


Tristitia

by valammar



Series: Sing With Me [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Chubby Inquisitor, Death, Gen, Gore, Harrowing, Plus Size Inquisitor, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 21:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5841922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valammar/pseuds/valammar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Inquisition, there was the Ostwick Circle. Neb Trevelyan is no stranger to sorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tristitia

“Neb, it’s time.”

It was still a few hours before dawn when she awoke to a gentle hand on her shoulder. She knew what it meant, though whispers in the apprentices' dormitories were the only preparation she had. She was nearly eighteen and had proven herself eligible to face her Harrowing. Senior Enchanter Lydia presented her robes and ordered her to dress. Any dregs of sleep had left her. Neb was wide awake, electrified, like the time her lightning whip ricocheted off of the dummy and struck her during Elementals training, but she would not showcase a frightened face, oh no. Even though she'd been stripped of her inheritance for possessing magic, she was still a Bann's daughter and she bore her burdens with poise. She slipped into her apprentice robes with a solemn and dignified expression – just as she was taught.

"Maker be with you, child," were the last words she heard before she closed her eyes. The vibrant thrum of lyrium made her body tingle. She felt effervescent, as if her spirit had evanesced into a mist - which is exactly what she found herself in when she opened her eyes again.

 A forest. This representation of the Fade was not the same twisted ruin she was familiar with. Her feet crunched through the thicket and spiny branches stroked her cheeks as she made her way toward her indeterminate goal. She didn’t even know if she was walking in the right direction and was terrified of what it meant if she wasn’t. Little was disclosed about the Harrowings, except that the mages who passed were the only ones who were seen again. She’d heard a plethora of stories over the years: some students believed that those who fail are transformed into lyrium; others theorized that they were simply sent to another Circle. Neb was far more resigned. She assumed that failure meant her gruesome execution, and so she’d better focus right bloody now because she wasn’t ready to die.

It was so _quiet_. She could barely see her hand in front of her face through the fog, which made her feel even more vulnerable when she heard branches cracking somewhere in the milky haze.

She wasn’t alone. Adrenaline kicked in and she ran, pumping her legs so fast they _burned_ , like they were being immolated from within. The rustling was closer now, faster, but she didn’t slow her pace. When her lungs could barely take the strain, she did not stop…

…Until a large mass caught her by surprise and sent her tumbling forward into a small clearing. It wasn’t the mysterious pursuer that caught up with her, but exhaustion. Her legs wobbled and her lungs ached with every frantic breath. Silence again. The ominous rustling was replaced by the rapid pulse in her ears. What was she supposed to do? And what had she tripped over in the first place?

That was when she heard it. Not a cracking tree branch but a desperate groan. No, not a groan. A bleat? Crawling on her hands and knees, she hissed as dried pine needles pricked her skin. Neb felt through the mist to find the obstruction, expecting a mossy tree stump or a gnarled root. What she felt instead was soft and warm, like the plush velvet on her mother’s skirt.

"Definitely alive," she said when the creature bleated once more. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward, but she wasn't prepared for what she saw.

A hart. Its long and slender legs squirmed against her, hooves digging into the moist earth for purchase. Neb gagged when she noticed the cause of its distress: it had been disemboweled. Her repulsion quickly transformed into pity once she reproached its wounds further. Massive claw marks were etched into the animal's smooth hide and its white belly was a puzzle of spilled organs and cracked bone. Her throat tightened and she wondered if whatever did this was the same entity she was running from. The hart struggled again, panted, clamored and _writhed_ in agony yet the poor thing would not die.

"Shhh, easy now," she cooed, stroking its blood stained neck. Her healing magic would be useless given the extent of the injury and she had no weapon to end its pain, only her magic.

 _Her magic._ Was this part of the test? Was she supposed to kill it with a spell? She could make it painless, humane; freeze it with ice magic, to gradually slow its heartbeat until it passed away in sleep. Mercy, not murder.

"It's all right," she said. "It will be over soon. Go in peace." Neb took a deep breath in, exhaling slowing through her mouth as she felt the frost prickle her fingertips. Ice was always her element. Enchanter Lydia always praised her aptitude in training, though she never taught her how to use ice as a form of euthanasia.

_Crack!_

The spell was instantly broken as a loud rustle disturbed the forest. Whatever that creature was, it was back, and it was big - and it was _close_. Every stomp sent a teeth-rattling shudder through the ground. Neb was petrified and tried to isolate the sound within the dense fog, but the echoes seemed to ricochet through the clearing. The hart cried out again when the thuds came faster. It was charging! Blessed Andraste, what was she supposed to _do_?!

"Oh Maker, hear my cry," she muttered rapidly, "Guide me through the blackest nights…" Faster. "Seat me by Your side in death…" Closer. "For You are the fire at the heart of the world…"

Any moment now, she'd be confronted with her hunter. Neb braced herself and waited for the creature to emerge. Every grim possibility came to mind: a Pride demon with monstrous claws and impenetrable flesh; a great bear feeling highly territorial; a dragon with yellow eyes and barbed teeth. Before she could face it, a rough hand clasped over her mouth, _hard_ , and another pulled her upright by the waist.

"Shhhh, we need to be quiet," the hooded stranger whispered in a low, husky voice before taking the hand from her face. "It's not safe here. Come with me."

"But--!"

"There isn't time!"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

He held out his hand. "You simply have to…unless you _want_ to become that thing's next meal?"

With the threat of danger looming over her, she had to make a decision. She didn't want to end up like the hart, mutilated and maimed on the wet earth. "All right." She took his hand. "I’ll trust you."

"Then I hope you're ready to run."

The creature shadowed her as her stranger led her through the wood, each step thundering behind them. "Do not look at it!" he cried when she turned her head. Perhaps _this_ was her test: surviving the chase. Neb's fear kept her upright and fast as the two of them made their way out of the undergrowth and into tall, brown grass.

“That’s it,” he huffed. “Keep running. Towards that house.” The fog was clearer in the open and she could make out the dilapidated structure ahead of them, using every last ounce of energy to reach its rickety door. By the grace of Andraste, the gargantuan footsteps stopped at the edge of the forest accompanied by a shrill scream that slithered down Neb's spine. They had time.

Her stranger ushered her inside first before barricading the door with a slab of wood. Neb collapsed on the dusty floor, completely drained.

"We made it!" he said, peering through the murky glass window. "Well done."

"Are we safe here?" she asked, huffing frantically.

"Yes. The beast is bidden to the woods. It cannot pass where there are no trees." He turned to her, loosening the cloak off of his broad shoulders. When he removed his hood, Neb was stricken by a chiseled face with a prominent nose, pale blue eyes and thick auburn hair tumbling in even waves toward a dimpled chin. Maker, he was striking; tall and strong.

She caught herself before her eyes wandered any lower on his physique - it was grossly inappropriate to ogle the man who saved her from a Fade monster. His feet took two deliberate steps toward her and he presented a glowing blue vial. Neb recognized the static scent of lyrium instantly. "Drink this. You need to replenish your strength."

"Thank you." She took it from him with both hands and downed the bottle in one greedy gulp. In moments, a familiar warmth revitalized her; the most potent elixir for any magic user. When she sighed in relief, he guzzled another vial himself.

"You're a mage?"

He gave her a dashing smile. "You are performing your Harrowing, are you not? Do you understand your task?"

She nodded. "Yes, but this doesn't look like any part of the Fade I'm familiar with. They told me nothing! Only that I was to emerge from the Fade with my wits intact. I--I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

That grin was _sinful_. When he bit his lower lip she felt a foreign ache forming between her thighs. "My girl, you can rest now. I'm happy to report that you've completed your assignment."

"I have? You mean…that monster?" So that _was_ the test!

"Evaded within the recommended amount of time, yes. The Harrowing serves to examine your aptitude in the Fade. Using ice magic on the hart was innovative. The very fact that you stopped for it at all is a testament to your compassion."

Neb felt the color rise in her cheeks. "Then, you--are you--who _are_ you?"

"Why, I am your evaluator. I enter the Fade with every apprentice and monitor their progress, of course."

"Are you from the Ostwick Circle? I've never seen you before."

His powder blue eyes met hers and she felt exposed, even more than she was sitting in the forest clearing. "My identity is kept a secret from the apprentices for a purpose. Though, to say you have never seen me before is not a complete truth."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He sighed. "I suppose it was too much to ask that you recognize an old friend."

Furrowing her brows, she studied him. Yes-- _yes_ , it was coming back to her; the hair, the eyes. How could anyone forget those eyes? He was but a child, though older than she. They would play together in the gardens. His name was…

" _Eagan_! Brett Eagan! Of the Eagans of Markham. Maker, it has been so long, I apologize!"

Brett chuckled. "And little Neb, not so little anymore. It's good to see you."

"I admit, I didn't know you possessed magic, too."

"Your family didn't write you?"

"No." Neb looked away, ashamed. She had little contact with her family after joining the Circle. The youngest of seven, her fate was already divided into one of two categories: marriage to a nobleman or service to the Chantry. As a mage, she was denied the right to marry, own property or become a cleric, so she served little political or social use. The Trevelyans were also _deeply_ devout. To have a mage in the family was enough cause for a spiritual crisis, let alone a communal one. Her mother visited three months into her time as an apprentice, said little and left with shaking hands and a grim frown. "They neglected that detail, I'm afraid."

"I passed my Harrowing at age sixteen as one of the youngest apprentices in the Markham Circle to earn the title of 'mage.' Later, I transferred to Ostwick and pursued my vocation of helping other apprentices complete theirs. Though I must say, it's a special honor to evaluate yours."

She smiled, feeling giddy. This kind of affirmation was rare, and never from someone so charming. Her renewed vim at passing her Harrowing made her feel daring. "If I had known you'd grow into such a handsome man, I would have volunteered to perform my Harrowing sooner."

"Ha! Oh, Neb, still as playful as I remember, though…" Now it was his turn to blush.

"What is it?"

"Forgive me, it's highly inappropriate for me to say, but given our history and given that you're soon to be a mage…"

"Brett, we're friends. You can tell me."

"…And if I had known you'd grow into such a beautiful woman, I would have transferred to Ostwick sooner." He crawled to her, his face a fraction away from hers. Was this happening? "You're _mesmerizing_."

She leaned away, heart hammering and tiny tears beading on her lashes. "You don't really mean that."

"Of course I do."

"It's just that…no one has ever said that to me before. Called me 'beautiful.'"

Brett cupped her cheek and turned her face back to his. "But you are, Neb. You are. You're, so, so _beautiful._ " Just when the tension became unbearable, his lips met hers. Neb shuddered to discover that they were soft and warm. There was another world within his mouth, a world she'd never experienced. She kissed him back harder, more desperate, and grasped at his hair and found it just as silken. That delicious ache between her legs grew stronger and she moaned, feeling unable to control herself. What was this feeling?

Just like that, it was over. He pulled away from her, panting. "Maker, Neb, you're exquisite!"

"I want to see you. In the Circle. When do we wake up? _How_ do we wake up?"

"They had you drink that bowl of lyrium, yes?"

She nodded.

"It's…powerful magic, that. It should wear off soon. We have some time now, that is, if you want to…"

"Want to what?"

Brett smiled again and tucked some of her hair behind one ear. "I want you - _all_ of you. I want _us_ , together. Being this close to you - kissing you - it's enough to make any man lose his wits. Please say you'll have me, my darling, and I'll show you pleasures you've never known. And when we wake…"

 _Wits_. She remembered what Lydia said: _Keep your wits intact_. But there was…no, there was _more_.

"Brett, wait. Let me think." That wasn't all that was said. She recalled it now. Neb stood in the Harrowing chamber while the Knight-Commander read from the Chant. Why hadn't she remembered? There was more: _Demons are cunning. They are the masters of the Fade and they can confuse your mind without your knowing. Remember this, dear girl. Keep your wits intact._ Demons. That was it - she had to resist a demon!

"I don't think I _can_ wait any longer," he whispered, caressing her waist. His hands were tender but his eyes were becoming more desperate, those bright blues were now dilated black with lust. "Being here with you…it's intoxicating. I beg of you, please, just…I _need_ you. Say yes, Neb. _Please_. Just say yes."

 _This_ was the test.

"No."

"Please--"

"I said _no_! Brett! Demon! Whoever - whatever - you are! You can't have me." Her voice was strangled, throat tightened from nerves, but she kept her eyes locked on his. "Do you hear me? You _won't_ have me!"

She stared him down, trying to keep her heart rate under control.

"Bah!" he cried, pulling away from her. "This is a waste of my time!" His voice sounded different then, higher and more feminine. Neb scrambled to her feet when Brett's form began to glow a pale, blinding yellow. The form that stood before her was not the same handsome man, but a demon: Desire. Her lilac skin highlighted ample breasts, jagged fangs and black, arching horns. "Very well, girl. Tried as I might, you still passed. Let us hope you're as willful from now on."

With that, Neb's body tingled again while the room filled with up with a dense mist. She closed her eyes and calmed her breathing.

"You did it, my dear!" Senior Enchanter Lydia cried out. "Wake up, that's it. I'm so proud of you. I knew you could do it!"

Neb awoke in the Harrowing chamber once more.

"Lady Trevelyan," the First Enchanter's gruff voice bellowed. "It is my pleasure to induct you as a full member of the Circle of Magi. You may now take an apprentice, tailor your realm of study, transfer your belongings to the mages' dormitories…"

The ceremony continued. She was given a lyrium-infused ring to commemorate her success, but she was too dizzy to focus. She had nearly fallen for the Desire demon's trick at the cost of a petty compliment. Her Harrowing was not a true victory; if anything, it made her aware of how susceptible she truly was.  

That night, she laid under fresh blankets in a proper bed rather than an apprentice's cot. The silver ring glimmered on her finger. The Fade was a realm of dreams, but the arousal she felt at the hands of "Brett" was more visceral than Neb wanted to admit. She would have given anything to let that strong, firm body take her on that shack floor among the scent of earth and dust. She was eager to feel him stroke her skin, to savor every inch of her plump one - to not be mocked, but _admired_. She _wanted_ it, wanted to be loved, even if it was a mere vision.

To fall asleep and not pursue Desire once more: _that_ was the true test.


End file.
